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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235267">Trust Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yay_for_absurdism/pseuds/yay_for_absurdism'>yay_for_absurdism</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Introspection, M/M, Smut, playing fast and loose with how seastone works</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:33:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yay_for_absurdism/pseuds/yay_for_absurdism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crocodile doesn't trust anyone. Not fully. Trust is a dangerous thing, after all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Crocodile/Mr. 1 | Daz Bones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Trust Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I love this ship and there is a sad lack of content (especially porn) so I gotta remedy that. </p>
<p>It's all just porn here, fellas. </p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>It wasn’t the first time he’d shared a bed with Daz. No, not even close. Their voyage in the New World didn’t always afford luxury; the luxury of a separate bedroom, of a sperate bed, or even of a bed at all. His large personal bedroom in Alabasta, his obscenely large bed, his silk sheets fit for a king, those were all long gone. But, on the other hand, the cold, hard, hellish cells of Impel Down were also in the past, so at this point any bed, no matter how thin the mattress, could be in some way considered luxurious. But. Nevertheless. Sharing a bed with his right-hand man in the best hotel on the island when they came to port was not an unlikely occurrence.   </p>
<p>And, it also wasn't close to the first time that he lay, elegantly sprawled out on their shared bed, as his subordinate knelt above him, deftly unbuttoning his shirt.  </p>
<p>Crocodile watched, lazily, as the assassin-turned-pirate reached the last button, bushed the fine fabric to the side. He raised his shoulders off the bed, let Daz pull his shirt down his arms, let the man fold it and place it with the rest of Crocodile’s discarded clothing so far. On the night table beside the bed, beside his hook, his rings, the Log Post. Watched the man descend, hands briefly resting on his stomach before moving to his pants to unbuckle his belt.  </p>
<p>It was base. It was primitive. It was pathetic, to be affected by desire like this. And so often. But he craved the heat of another just like anyone else did. He may be a cold, cruel, cunning pirate, but he was human still.  </p>
<p>Pants removed and folded neatly, he lay naked on the bed, waiting for Daz to continue. The man knelt between Crocodile’s long, toned legs, one hand resting on his boss’s hip, but for a long moment he stayed still. He looked deep in thought, as he pressed his thumb into the divot just above Crocodile’s hipbone, and eventually looked up to meet his boss' gaze.  </p>
<p>Crocodile raised one thin eyebrow, demanding an explanation.  </p>
<p>“Do you trust me?” Daz asked.  </p>
<p>He wouldn’t lie. “No. Not fully.”  Though he did trust Daz a lot more than he trusted anyone else. Just look at the current situation, he wouldn’t put himself in such a highly compromising position if he didn’t trust Daz. He’d never say that, though. Trust was both a dangerous weakness and a weapon, after all. Best to leave it, simply.  </p>
<p>Daz nodded in reply, and said nothing for a long moment. Then, “You could kill me.” </p>
<p>Crocodile hummed in reply, a noise that was not exactly a yes but definitely not a no. “And I’m sure you think you could find a way to kill me, don’t you? You are, by trade, an assassin after all.”  </p>
<p>Daz shrugged, the gesture non-comital. He sat back for a moment, took his own shirt off, shrugged it off his tanned, toned shoulders, placed the haphazardly folded garment somewhere beside the neat pile of Crocodile’s clothes.  </p>
<p>If it came to it, he knew he could kill Daz. He didn’t want it to come to that but... just in case. Just in case he’d become a bit soft and let his guard down too much. </p>
<p>Then he really would be back to square one, wouldn’t he? Back to a solitary pirate with not a single crewmate.  </p>
<p>Not trusting anyone, having no close friends, no allies, no family, it was incredibly lonely. </p>
<p>He was lonely. He didn’t want to feel lonely, it was annoying and not befitting of someone as powerful as he was. But he was just human, and loneliness was something everyone was prone to. Perhaps Daz was lonely too.  </p>
<p>Ah, well, better than being lonely alone.  </p>
<p>But the intrusive and redundant self-reflection could wait for a later date.  </p>
<p>Daz took his cock in his mouth, and Crocodile sighed, leaning back into the pillows. He looked up at the ceiling far above, faux marble heavy with white plaster ornamentation, tacky in its attempts to not appear cheap, and then let his eyes slide shut. It felt good, Daz’s lips around him, the feeling of his cock hitting the back of the man’s throat, the subtle way he could tell Daz was consciously suppressing his gag reflex. A wide, lazy smile crossed his lips. Good.  </p>
<p>Without stopping his mouth, Daz reached for the small bottle on the night table and coated his fingers generously with the lube. Pressed against Crocodile’s hole, one long, strong finger slipping inside. Expertly, with practiced ease at this point, he worked his boss open, first finger quickly joined by a second, and then a third. Crocodile let out a soft, barely audible moan, relaxing best he could to ease the process along. And a minute later, and after a quick look at Crocodile to make sure everything was acceptable, Daz withdrew his fingers, satisfied with his work. Coating himself with more lube, he lined himself up and thrust his hips forwards, slowly slipping inside.  </p>
<p>Crocodile let out a long breath, adjusting to the intrusion, his fingers clutching at the sheets by his side. It was tight every time, not enough that it was painful but enough for it to be what he needed.  </p>
<p>After a moment of pause, giving Crocodile the time he needed, Daz began to thrust, slow at first but steadily building up the pace. Crocodile’s grip on the sheets tightened, eyes slipping shut as he let the pleasure spread through his body. He could feel Daz’s gaze on him, watching his reactions, making sure it felt good for him. And it did. It always did.  </p>
<p>Letting go of Crocodile’s hips, Daz brought his hands up, running his fingers up his boss’s body. Slowly, almost reverently, over each toned, defined muscle, every old, faded scar. Large hands moving across Crocodile’s chest, gently kneading into the soft muscle, moving upwards still, thumbs resting momentarily in the divot between his collarbones before continuing. And then Daz wrapped a hand around his boss’s throat.  </p>
<p>The pressure was a shock, and Crocodile took in a shuddering breath, eyes flying open. It wasn’t as if Daz was pushing hard, he could still breath easily enough, but the pressure against his windpipe was still a threat.  </p>
<p>“That’s dangerous.” he hissed, voice low.  </p>
<p>Daz looked down at him, stoic as ever. “Trust me.” he said, still thrusting his hips, slow but solid.  </p>
<p>At that, Crocodile laughed, the sound turning into a cough as Daz pressed down a little harder. “You’re making it hard for me to do so right now.”  </p>
<p>“You’re stronger than me.” was all Daz said in reply. </p>
<p>It was true. They both knew Crocodile was stronger. They both knew that he could reach up and pry Daz’s fingers away from his throat with relative ease. And, they both knew that Crocodile could and would kill anyone who would try to do this to him. Crocodile could slip away from those hands, dissolve into sand, become intangible for a split second, and that would be enough. But he didn’t.  </p>
<p>And then he felt Daz’s long fingers grow cold, and hard, and sharp, and there were blades pressed against his throat. The surprise of it, the surprise of the sheer audacity, it pulled a soft gasp from Crocodile’s lips.  </p>
<p>“Be careful.” he warned, voice thin. Not because he was afraid of being cut, but because Daz should be afraid if he got cut.  </p>
<p>“I won’t hurt you.” And as if to further obfuscate his words and intentions, the man pressed his fingers down even harder, a hair away from breaking skin.  </p>
<p>It was dangerous. The feeling of steel against his throat, the feeling of pressure threatening to close his windpipe, the feeling of having to work to bring in air. But it was exciting, in a strange way, a way Crocodile did not and would not delve into in detail, now or any time in the future. He didn’t need to ruminate on why the pressure on his throat made pleasure pool in the pit of his stomach, or why he could hear his pulse unnaturally quick and hard in his ears.  </p>
<p>Simply, you didn’t become a pirate if you didn’t enjoy or demand the feeling of adrenaline pumping through your veins.  </p>
<p>“You had better not, for your own sake.”  </p>
<p>In reply, Daz just thrust his hips faster, picking up the pace, and Crocodile’s attention was drawn away from the blades pressed to his throat. Not entirely, of course, the feeling of not being able to draw in enough air couldn’t be ignored. Though, surprisingly, it didn’t feel bad. If anything, well, it felt good. Or, at least, did not detract from the general experience.  </p>
<p>And his body seemed to agree, the pleasure was building, surprisingly fast. He was close, already, especially when Daz wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking in time to his thrusts.  </p>
<p>Crocodile could feel the lack of enough oxygen spreading through his body, radiating out from his neck, his head, his chest, out to the extremities, legs feeling heavy and numb. It was warm but not in a comforting way, hot and hazy and dangerous, he could feel that his entire face was flushed red, the color undoubtably creeping down his neck and chest. He must look a mess.  </p>
<p>If he wasn’t so close, so caught up in the pleasure of it all, he would definitely care more. He would care a lot more, later, after, when he thought about it in more detail, enough so that he almost broke the shower out of anger and maybe a bit of embarrassment. </p>
<p>But not now. He didn’t think about it now.   </p>
<p>His one hand came up, grasping Daz’s wrist, fingers digging into the taut muscle, damp with sweat. He didn’t force the man’s hand away, only held on, hard enough to snap bone if Daz had been a lesser man. In response Daz pressed down harder on his throat.  </p>
<p>And that was enough, with the hand on his throat and around his cock and Daz still thrusting deep and hard, he came, more or less silently because it wasn't as if he had enough air to really make any sound. A few seconds later, gasping for breath, body lax, Daz finally let of his throat and he could breathe, thank god, that felt almost as good as his climax. Almost.  </p>
<p>Daz pulled out, and a few quick strokes he came as well, with a shuddering breath, across Crocodile’s stomach. And then they were both still, coming down, the room hot and heavy from exertion.  </p>
<p>After a minute Daz sat back on his heels, wiping sweat from his brow. A minute later, chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths, he got up, brought a towel back to the bed, cleaned both of their semen off of Crocodile’s stomach. Once he did, Crocodile sat up, brushing damp hair out of his face, and leaned back against the headboard, sweat beading on his skin and running down the back of his neck. The moisture of it was uncomfortable, but Daz passed him a cigar and he took it, relaxing back against the headboard. He let the man light it for him, and he let out a long breath, watching the thin smoke filter up towards the ceiling. Still high above, still tacky, now partially obscured by a growing haze of smoke.  </p>
<p>Daz sat down on the bed beside him, just far enough away that their shoulders did not touch. “Part of me expected you to attack me in return.” </p>
<p>Crocodile chuckled. “I was thinking about it.” he replied, running his fingers along the imprints in his skin, finger-shaped indents around his neck. He could easily turn to sand, reform a second later, let those tiny marks of weakness be erased from his body. But he didn’t. They would fade themselves in time, likely by the next morning, by the time they left the room and headed out into public. There was no need.  </p>
<p>… </p>
<p>It was a large room, one of the finest they’d come across so far on their journey, with a floor to ceiling window looking out over the harbor, over the late day sea, with a bed large enough to fit both men with room to spare, large enough and with fine enough sheets that Crocodile was almost reminded of the luxury he once owned.  </p>
<p>On the horizon a storm was brewing, but as it was it was still, and silent, and Crocodile sat in an ornate armchair by the window, the day’s newspaper in his lap. Daz lit his cigar, and then took his coat to hang it in the closet by the front door. As he read, Crocodile could hear the man’s footsteps, light, quick, crisp, as he strode across the room, placed their things where they would belong for the night, and then returned to the window, a few feet from where Crocodile sat.  </p>
<p>The pirate glanced upwards, briefly, to see Daz gazing out the window, watching the storm slowly approach.  </p>
<p>A few minutes later, and the man asked, “How much do you trust me?”  </p>
<p>Crocodile raised a thin eyebrow at him. “Why do you care?”  </p>
<p>In response Daz shrugged, “I was just curious.” and then, after a brief pause, “I know you don’t trust anyone.”  </p>
<p>“You’re right.” he turned the page of the newspaper, focused his gaze back on the words and away from his subordinate, “I don’t.”  </p>
<p>Silence settled over them, a familiar, comfortable silence, as close to peaceful as a wanted pirate could get. Crocodile continued to read, scanning the stories, the headlines, of the New World, his cigar burning steadily as he did. The air around him grew hazy, almost shimmering in the last of the late day sun that filtered into the room via the window, and when he went to extinguish the butt of his cigar Daz placed the ashtray on the side table beside him, inches from his elbow.  </p>
<p>The remanence of the cigar smoldering in the ashtray, Crocodile folded the newspaper shut and placed it on his lap. “If I didn’t trust you, at least a bit, you wouldn’t be here.” he said. </p>
<p>Daz nodded, and looked back out the window.  </p>
<p>… </p>
<p>The pillows were soft, so very soft, and he closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling. He felt Daz’s lips on his chest, and with each button undone, those lips traveled lower, over his stomach, stopping just above his beltline. Then coming back up, as the man pushed his shirt of his shoulders, lips brushing across the newly exposed skin. And, shirt discarded, down his arm, wrist, over his knuckles, kissing his rough, battle worn palm.  </p>
<p>He’d never asked why, and he didn’t really care why Daz touched him like this. But Crocodile would never dissuade anyone’s love, respect, admiration, for him, so he allowed Daz to do as he pleased, to a certain extent. It had been a long time since he’d felt someone's lips on him like this, someone's hands holding him like this, all but worshiping. He didn’t mind.  </p>
<p>Daz’s hands moved down his arm following the path the man’s lips had traced a moment earlier, coming to entwine his fingers with Crocodile’s for a moment. And then Crocodile felt a cool, smooth, hard sensation around his wrist, and then a soft clink, and it was not the sound of Daz’s steel knives. No, it was too hollow, too light, too deeply ingrained in his psyche to be confused for anything other than what it was, especially when he immediately felt all the power in his body be torn away, leaving him gasping and weak and livid.  </p>
<p>For a moment he was too shocked to say anything, and it was a long enough moment for Daz to close the other handcuff around the bedpost. Why did the man, also a Devil Fruit user, have a set of seastone handcuffs? How had he gotten then? How had he gotten them without Crocodile noticing?  </p>
<p>Shit. He’d gotten comfortable, let his guard down, been too soft and too weak, and Crocodile growled low in his throat, pulling against the restraint. But it was a futile effort, what was done was done and he couldn’t fight it, he could only accept the heaviness of his limbs, pulling him down, slow and languid without his permission, sinking into the sheets like a stone in water.  </p>
<p>He fixed his eyes on Daz, who was looking down at him with a stoic but curious expression. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, voice low, slow, deadly. </p>
<p>“I would think it’s pretty obvious.”   </p>
<p>Crocodile felt his eye twitch. At the moment, he was not in the mood for Daz’s cheekiness. “Don’t push your luck.” he hissed, a deliberate threat.  </p>
<p>Daz reached out, brushed a lock of hair out of his boss’ face, tucked it behind the pirate's ear. “Do you think I’m going to kill you?”  </p>
<p>“No.” Of course he didn’t. Daz was, for all intents and purposes, a smart man. He knew better.  </p>
<p>“Then trust me.”  </p>
<p>Crocodile laughed, despite himself. That was a tough ask, a ridiculous ask, it was nigh impossible to trust a person who’d just handcuffed you to the bed and robbed you of your power.  </p>
<p>But Daz proceeded as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He placed his hands on Crocodile’s chest, running down his stomach, unbuckled the man’s belt, slid his pants off, folded them and put them with the rest of the discarded clothing. He ignored the cold, hard glare Crocodile had directed at him, taking his boss’s soft cock in his hand, licking up the length, stroking slowly. It felt good, as it always did, but Crocodile couldn’t sink into the pleasure of it like normal. He was still angry. He was still taut, body poised for fight or flight, a far cry from how relaxed he had been at the start of this.  </p>
<p>And how could he relax now? How could he, if everything in his life up until this point had made him, no, <em> both of them </em>, wary of seastone so how dare Daz bring it into the bedroom? </p>
<p>Daz looked up at him, obviously noting his boss’ emotions. He said nothing, bringing his hands up Crocodiles’ body to rest on his chest. He must be able to feel the way Crocodile’s heart was beating, the way his breath was far too quick this early on.  </p>
<p>“Relax.” Daz said, and the playfulness in his voice was maddening.  </p>
<p>“How can I?”  </p>
<p>Daz replied with, “Just trust me.” a second before he turned his forefinger into a blade and dragged it across his boss’ chest.  </p>
<p>Crocodile felt the sharp coolness of steel against his skin, and it barely hurt, Daz knew how to wield a blade well, after all, but the subsequent trickle of blood that seeped from his new wound made him wince.  </p>
<p>It was unspoken but it hung heavy in the air, as Daz bent down to lick the blood from Crocodile’s chest, holding eye contact as he did. <em> You can’t escape, turn to sand, erase the wound. </em> It was implied, it was acknowledged, and it occurred to Crocodile that maybe this was what Daz had wanted all along.  </p>
<p>“I’m going to kill you.”  </p>
<p>Daz licked his lips, a small smear of blood left behind, bright red against his skin. “You assume I’m going to take the seastone off.”  </p>
<p>“I do. You will.”  </p>
<p>He could hear Daz smile more than see it. “I will. And you can kill me then, if you’d like.”  </p>
<p>He should. He hadn’t been humiliated like this in ages, and it’s what Daz deserved for doing such a thing. He would never let a subordinate, no, he would never let <em> anyone </em>get away with this. But Daz’s hand trailed down his stomach to grip his cock, already fully hard, and he bit back a moan, thoughts of murder dissipating. No, not quite dissipating, just pushed back, to the back of his mind. For now.  </p>
<p>Daz shifted his position on the bed, coming to kneel between Crocodile's legs. One hand on his boss’ cock, stroking slowly, his other trailed down the man’s leg, nails ghosting across his skin. The touch was light, only nails, not blades, not yet, and Crocodile bit his lip as he felt a shiver run up his spine. It must be the effects of the seastone, rendering him weaker and more sensitive. It must be the seastone, making his legs shake, making him be this close to falling apart from just a light touch.  </p>
<p><em> I’ll kill him </em>, Crocodile swore, in his mind. For the briefest moment, Daz met his gaze, returning the murderous glare with stoic curiosity barely masking the lust underneath. The man had cold, serious, sever eyes, and this amount of emotion, though still restrained was rare. But then Daz focused his attention on his boss’ body under his hands, and turning his thumb into a blade, pressed the steel against the soft skin of Crocodile’s inner thigh. With a small, quick movement, it broke skin.  </p>
<p>Crocodile hissed, not quite because of the pain but more so because of the sight of blood, of weakness, his own weakness put on display. It was uncomfortable, the sensation of the blood trickling down his leg, staining his skin as it dripped, dripped, down his skin and following the curve of his muscles, lower still to slowly soak into the soft sheets.  </p>
<p>After a long moment of both men watching the blood, Daz leaned forwards and, starting at the junction of Crocodile’s leg and groin before moving upwards, licked the thin trail of blood. Again, the feeling, soft and wet against his skin, it was frustratingly intense, making his body shiver despite his best efforts to remain unaffected. But it was evident enough to the both of them that that was a battle he was losing.  </p>
<p>“Do you like this?” Daz asked, before pressing his tongue against the small cut he’d made, hard enough that it hurt, pushing the split skin farther apart.  </p>
<p>“Don’t get cocky.” Crocodile replied, through gritted teeth as he fought to keep his body still as Daz thumb, still tipped with a blade, ghosted over his skin.  </p>
<p>“If you don’t want me to get cocky, then you should stop me.” It looked, and sounded, like he was trying hard to keep a smile of his face. He dragged his thumb up, and once again cut the skin, and once again let the blood trickle down, and once again licked it up.  </p>
<p>And damn it all, for despite everything, Crocodile couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so hard. So hard it ached, dripping in Daz’s grip, and the man’s slow strokes were not nearly enough at this point. He growled, low and soft in the back of his throat. How frustrating. How utterly embarrassing.  </p>
<p>“Cut it out with your twisted games and fuck me already.” he hissed.  </p>
<p>“Okay.”  </p>
<p>The blades on his skin disappeared, for now, replaced by the normal warmth of Daz’s fingers. Shifting, Daz adjusted their positions, bringing Crocodile’s hips off of the bed, one long leg up over his shoulder. But instead of using his fingers, he leaned forwards, one hand supporting Crocodile’s hips, and pressed his tongue to his boss’s hole, licking up the length of his ass. He licked again, and then pressed his tongue inside.  </p>
<p>Crocodile’s hips bucked, and he hissed, it sounding a lot like a soft “fuck”. Daz was good, very good with his mouth. There was nothing he could do to hold on, he could only yank at the seastone handcuff impotently, close his hand into a fist hard enough he could feel his nails digging into the flesh of his palm.  </p>
<p>It was good, but not enough, not nearly enough. He <em> needed </em>more, damn it, a tongue wasn’t enough, not at this point. This teasing, it was too much.  </p>
<p>He couldn’t stand it much longer.  </p>
<p>“Hurry up.” he said, through gritted teeth. “Now.”  </p>
<p>Daz did as he was told. Coated his fingers with lube, made short work of finishing preparations, and in no time he was lining his cock up to Crocodile’s entrance, sinking deep, all the way to the hilt in a few quick thrusts.  </p>
<p>It had never felt so good. Goddamnit, it had never felt so satisfying, and Crocodile let out a low moan, much louder than he would have liked, head thrown back. Daz set a quick, hard pace right from the get-go, enough to have the bed creaking, the ornately carved headboard slamming against the wall rhythmically.  </p>
<p>Already, Crocodile felt close, every touch, every movement, every thrust more pleasurable than the last. He gritted his teeth, pressing his head back into the soft pillows. It was never this fast. This intense. How pathetic, a man of his age, his experience, his status, his power, being so needy like this.  </p>
<p>Maybe it was the danger. The seastone, the blood. Like before, when Daz had dared to put his hands around Crocodile’s neck. Like before, but more, somehow, more intense, more all-consuming, traveling down to his toes, to the tips of his fingers, beginning to feel numb as the seastone handcuff dug into his wrist.  </p>
<p>It must be the seastone.  </p>
<p>And then he felt the pressure of a hand on his throat, fingers curling around his neck. A part of him had expected it, a part of him cursed Daz for doing it, and a part of him welcomed it far too eagerly.  </p>
<p>It felt good.  </p>
<p>Daz’s fingers tensed around his neck, pressing against his flushed skin, pressing into the arteries hard enough that the thrumming of his blood, his pulse, must have been audible in the otherwise quiet room. Crocodile let his mouth fall open, working to take in more oxygen, unable to hold back a weak moan as Daz tightened his grip.  </p>
<p>Daz’s other hand closed around his forearm, the forearms of his left arm, inches above the scar that wound across the end of the stump. Pushing down, Daz pinned his arm to the bed, and he couldn’t push back. He tried, reflexively, to counter the pressure holding him down, but the seastone had thoroughly done its job.  </p>
<p>Daz’s fingers dug into his arm, short, blunt fingernails close to breaking the skin. For a moment the man’s grip loosened, just a bit, enough so that when his fingers turned to steel they didn’t break the skin, not yet, just pressing into the muscle and scar tissue, an imminent threat.  </p>
<p>And that was too close for comfort. To close to dragging up ancient memories from the dark recesses of his mind, too close to making the sutures that would never disappear ache, too close to making this all be too much.  </p>
<p>“Don’t.” he hissed, forming the word best he could given the circumstances, and immediately Daz’s grip loosened, only holding tight enough to keep Crocodile in place, the sharp feeling of nails on skin fading.  </p>
<p>“Sorry.” the man breathed, voice soft.  </p>
<p><em> It's fine</em>, Crocodile would have said, in a low, warning tone, if he could form the words, <em> just don’t do it again</em>. As it was, he only nodded, slightly.  </p>
<p>Turning his attention away from Crocodile’s arm, Daz focused instead on his other hand, the one pressing down on his boss’s throat. He pressed harder. The two men locked eyes for a moment, and Crocodile didn’t know what Daz was searching for but he was searching for something. And he must have found it, because the warm fingers Crocodile felt around his throat turned cold, sharp, dangerous, and the man’s index finger sliced into his skin.  </p>
<p>There was blood, he could feel it trickle down his neck, mix with the sweat at his nape. Not a lot, Daz hadn't cut any large, dangerous blood vessel, but still. It made his breath hitch in his throat, however much breath he had left.  </p>
<p>He wasn't in danger, he wouldn’t die, but it felt like he might. And that was, strangely, infuriatingly, exciting.  </p>
<p>He needed to come, he needed more, he wrapped his legs around Daz’s waist tight as he could, holding him close, as much as he could given his current state. He could feel the blood drip down his neck, he could feel his limbs numbing, he could feel the pressure at his temples increasing. He could feel everything coming to a head. He was coming undone, out of his own control, quickly and inelegantly and powerlessly. Embarrassingly. </p>
<p>He came without being touched, back arching high off the now-sweaty sheets, vision going white behind his eyelids. He heard, faintly, Daz let out a low hiss, and the hand around his throat tightened one last time, and the man’s hips stuttered as he came, deep inside Crocodile. Well, if Crocodile hadn't already sworn to kill him for other reasons, he’d kill him for that.  </p>
<p>Daz’s thrusts slowed, stopped, as he rode out his climax. His grip relaxed, first on Crocodile’s throat and then on his arm, but he didn’t take his hands away. They stayed where they were for a long moment, a warm, solid pressure, all back to flesh and bone. Crocodile took in a deep breath, it shaky in his aching throat, but it felt wonderful to be able to breathe again.  </p>
<p>Finally though, Daz did let go. He pulled his hands back, and pulled out, and for a moment Crocodile was surprised at how much he missed the feeling of being held. But the warmth was back a moment later, Daz’s hands holding his head, smoothing back stray, sweaty hair that stuck to his forehead, brushing away sweat and maybe tears. And Daz kissed him, kissed up his neck, along his jaw, before bringing their lips together. It was slow, without any urgency, not gentle but certainly not the opposite. Well, not until Crocodile sunk his teeth into Daz’s bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood and have the man grunt in pain before pulling back.  </p>
<p>“Take it off.” Crocodile said, voice low, and it was a petty thought but he was glad to see Daz bleed as well.  </p>
<p>Above him, Daz shifted. Crocodile felt the man’s hands on his wrist, and heard the click of a key turning in the lock, and the seastone cuff fell away. It wasn’t as immediate as normal, the feeling of his strength returning after breaking contact with that blasted mineral, but maybe that was because of the lingering post-climax haze. Whatever the reason, it was still comforting to be powerful again.  </p>
<p>His wrist was sore, the skin red but not broken from rubbing against the handcuff, and Daz brushed his lips against the abrasion before letting go. Not an apology, but recognition, acknowledgment. Crocodile would have told the man not to worry, he’d be fine, but he was still catching his breath.  </p>
<p>With a grunt of effort, Crocodile pushed himself into a seated position, telling himself that it was the lingering effects of the seastone that was making his body so sluggish. Though he did have a headache now, a low, pulsing pain in the back of his head, not enough to be a nuisance but present enough to have him questioning why it was there. That wasn’t usually a side effect of seastone.  </p>
<p>Brushing his hair back, fingers raking through his sweaty, tangled locks, he looked over at his second-in command. Like normal, Daz had sat on the bed beside him, just far enough that they were not touching, side-by-side. But he was looking down, and when Crocodile followed the man’s gaze, it led him to the two thin lines of broken skin on his thigh.  </p>
<p>The small wounds had closed up, no longer letting a slow trickle of blood drip down his skin. All that was left were thin red lines, a forming scab, and a smudge of dried blood. It wouldn’t scar, of course not, it would probably heal in a day or two without any interference. But, nevertheless. It was a wound that had bled.  </p>
<p>“Are you going to kill me?” Daz asked, gaze flickering back up to Crocodile’s face.  </p>
<p>If Crocodile had been hoping for Daz to apologize for what he’d done, he was out of luck. Daz didn’t look like at all apologetic for what he’d done. If anything, he looked smug, proud. That bastard. Crocodile really had let his guard down too much. It was irritating, enough that Crocodile really was tempted to do it, just to shut him up, to teach him to know his place.  </p>
<p>“In time.” he replied, because Sir Crocodile was not one to make empty promises, make a threat without any intention of following through. No, he had his pride, and a reputation to uphold.  </p>
<p>“Oh? Really.”  </p>
<p>“Really.” and he grinned. “Trust me.”  </p>
<p>At that, Daz laughed, and it was perhaps the first time Crocodile had every truly heard him laugh. “Alright.” the man replied, handing Crocodile a cigar. “I will.”  </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just want Sir Crocodile to be a messy sub pillow princess, ok? </p>
<p>Tumblr at https://darknebulablader.tumblr.com I've got some One Piece fan art up over there too</p></blockquote></div></div>
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